The streets of Oakhaven were almost empty at that hour.
Thiriel limped across the uneven cobblestones, each step sending stabs of pain through his torso. His broken ribs protested with every breath. His left arm hung nearly useless, the wound still bleeding slowly despite his attempts to stem it.
But his mind was not on the pain.
It was on the combat.
The Alpha was faster than I anticipated, he analyzed as he turned a corner. My first evaluation was incorrect. I underestimated its speed because I focused too much on its size.
Error number one.
I should have eliminated the elite wolves before the Alpha could use its shadow ability. Every second I gave them was a second it used to observe my attack patterns.
Error number two.
The final blow worked, but it was a desperate one. If the Alpha had been slightly more resilient, that attack would have left me completely empty. No reserves. No options.
Error number three.
Thiriel frowned as the inn appeared at the end of the street.
In his previous life, errors like those would have meant death. Not necessarily his own, but that of his soldiers. The death of those who depended on his decisions. He had learned to be relentless with himself precisely because of that.
This body is still weak, he concluded. And my arrogance almost killed me today.
The lesson was clear: until he fully recovered, until he completely mastered the fusion of his martial techniques and the magic of this world, he could not afford to underestimate any opponent. Not even beasts.
The inn door opened before he could reach it. Caethiriel appeared in the threshold, her eyes widening in horror upon seeing him.
"BROTHER!"
The scream was loud enough to wake half the neighborhood. Before Thiriel could respond, his sister was already by his side, trying to support him, her small hands trembling as they touched the dried blood on his clothes.
"What happened? What did they do to you? Who—?"
"Wolves," Thiriel interrupted with a weary voice. "A lot of wolves. I'm fine."
"You are not fine!" Caethiriel had tears in her eyes. "Look at you! You're covered in blood!"
"Most of it isn't mine."
"That doesn't make me feel any better!"
Another figure appeared at the door. Arielle, with her healer's bag over her shoulder and an expression that oscillated between worry and fury.
"Get inside," she ordered firmly. "Now."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Thiriel let himself be guided into the inn and then upstairs to his room. The innkeeper looked at them from behind the counter but said nothing. Wounded adventurers were part of the business.
Once in the room, Arielle closed the door and turned to him with her arms crossed.
"Which part of 'absolute rest' did you not understand?"
"I needed to…"
"Needed to almost kill yourself?" Arielle's voice was sharp. "Because that's what it looks like. Look at you. Broken ribs, by the angle of your breathing. A deep laceration on the left forearm. Multiple contusions. You likely have internal bleeding." She paused for breath. "And I only cleared you two days ago!"
Thiriel did not answer. Not because he lacked an argument, but because he knew she was right.
Arielle exhaled slowly, her fury turning into resignation.
"Sit on the bed. Take off your shirt."
Thiriel obeyed without protest. Every movement was torture, but he managed to remove the bloody garment and sit on the edge of the bed. Arielle stifled an exclamation upon seeing his torso.
Bruises covered much of his skin like a map of pain. His left side, where the Alpha's claw had struck him, was a mass of black and purple. The forearm wound was still open, its edges jagged where the fangs had torn muscle and skin.
"Caethiriel," Arielle said without looking away. "I need hot water and clean cloths. Can you...?"
"I'm going," the girl replied, disappearing through the door.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Arielle began to work without a word. First, she cleaned the arm wound with expert movements, removing dirt and remnants of dried blood. The pain was intense, but Thiriel did not flinch.
"Are you truly okay?" she finally asked, her voice softer now.
"I've had worse days."
Arielle looked at him sideways.
"I don't know if that reassures me or worries me more."
Thiriel almost smiled. "Probably both."
Caethiriel returned with the hot water and cloths. Arielle used them to finish cleaning the wound, then applied an ointment that smelled of mint and something stronger, something medicinal.
"I brought herbs," Thiriel said, remembering. "In my spatial bag. Moonflower and Ironroot."
Arielle looked up, surprised. "You got them?"
"It was one of the missions."
She looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "You are impossible. Give me the bag."
Thiriel reached for it with his good hand. Arielle extracted the herbs and examined them with an expert eye.
"Good quality," she murmured. "Very good, in fact. Where did you find them?"
"A ravine east of the river. There were Moonflowers growing in the shadows."
"Smart. Most adventurers don't know where to look."
She prepared a paste with the herbs, crushing them in a small mortar she took from her bag. The aroma that emerged was earthy and slightly bitter. When she applied it to the wounds, Thiriel felt an immediate coolness spread beneath his skin.
"This will help with the inflammation," Arielle explained. "But the ribs... there isn't much I can do. They need time to heal."
"I can accelerate the process."
Arielle frowned. "How?"
Instead of answering, Thiriel closed his eyes and began to channel magic inward. Not outward, as he would for a combat spell, but inward, guiding the energy toward the damaged areas.
It was the magical recovery technique he had developed by combining his martial knowledge with the magic of this world. It wasn't instantaneous or perfect, but it significantly accelerated the natural healing process.
Arielle watched him with fascination.
"That's... I've never seen anything like that."
"It's a personal technique," Thiriel replied without opening his eyes. "It works best if I combine my magic with external treatment."
"I see."
She continued working in silence, applying more ointment, bandaging the more serious wounds, and massaging the tense muscles around the broken ribs. Her hands were firm and steady.
After a while, Caethiriel excused herself.
"I'm going to get food," she said. "None of us have had dinner."
Thiriel nodded without opening his eyes, concentrated on the meditation. The door closed softly.
As Arielle continued the treatment, something in the atmosphere changed.
Thiriel noticed it first in the rhythm of Arielle's hands. They had become slower. More hesitant. The professionalism from before had given way to something different, something he couldn't completely identify while keeping his eyes closed.
Then he noticed her breathing. Faster than normal. Slightly irregular.
And finally, the silence. She had stopped talking altogether, whereas before she always commented on his wounds, the treatment, or anything to fill the void.
Interesting, he thought. He opened his eyes.
Arielle was leaning over him, her hands still resting on his side, but motionless. Her face was just inches from his. And there was an unmistakable blush spreading across her cheeks.
Their eyes met.
She did not look away. Not immediately. For a moment, they were suspended in that instant, the tension between them as palpable as the heat in the room.
Thiriel studied her in silence.
She was attractive. Not in a flashy or exuberant way, but in a more subtle form. Light hair tied back in a practical ponytail. Intelligent eyes behind a face that showed kindness.
And for a moment—only for a moment—he saw another face superimposed over hers.
Elara.
His wife. The woman he had loved in his previous life. Who had died while he was conquering a continent, unable to protect her because he was too busy being invincible.
The memory hit him harder than any wolf's claw.
Thiriel looked away.
"Arielle."
She blinked, as if waking from a trance. "Y-yes?"
"Thank you for the treatment."
It was a neutral response. Deliberately neutral. The kind of response that closed doors without slamming them.
Arielle understood. Of course she understood. She was intelligent. The blush on her cheeks intensified, but now it was from embarrassment more than anything else. She stepped back, gathering her instruments with movements that tried to appear casual.
"It's nothing," she murmured. "It's my job."
Thiriel watched her without saying anything.
I can't, he thought. I must not.
He would have too many enemies in the future. From the organization behind Vexar to every potential hegemon on the continent once he began his ascent as the emperor of this world. Involving someone in his life—anyone—was putting them in danger.
He had already made that mistake once. He would not do it again.
The door opened. Caethiriel entered carrying a tray with three bowls of stew and freshly baked bread. The aroma filled the room immediately. The girl stopped at the threshold.
Her gaze went from Thiriel to Arielle. From Arielle to Thiriel. She noticed the blush on the healer's cheeks. She noticed the awkward silence that permeated the air.
And she smiled.
She said nothing. She made no comments. She simply walked toward the table by the window and set the tray down carefully.
"The lady downstairs prepared extra when I told her you were injured," she said in an innocent tone. "She says meat helps recover lost blood."
Arielle cleared her throat. "I should... the treatment is complete for now. I'll come tomorrow to change the bandages."
"Stay for dinner," Caethiriel said before she could move toward the door. "There's enough for three."
The healer hesitated. "I don't want to be a bother..."
"You're not a bother." Caethiriel took her hand and guided her toward the table. "Brother, come eat. You need to regain your strength."
Thiriel rose from the bed carefully, feeling his ribs protest with every movement. But the pain was manageable now. The combination of Arielle's treatment and his own recovery technique had managed to stabilize the injuries.
The three sat around the small table. Caethiriel served the stew in silence. Arielle kept her eyes fixed on her bowl. Thiriel ate with mechanical movements, his mind still processing the moment from before.
The silence was awkward. But it was also warm.
For the first time in a long time, Thiriel found himself sharing a meal with people who were not soldiers or vassals. There was no politics behind every word. No hidden agendas. Just three people eating together at the end of a difficult day.
It was strange. It was pleasant. And it was dangerous.
Because the more time he spent with them, the harder it would be to maintain the distance he needed.
Thiriel finished his stew and set the empty bowl on the table.
"Thank you for the meal," he said. "And for the treatment."
Arielle nodded without looking up. "Rest. I will come early tomorrow."
She stood up and gathered her bag, heading toward the door. Before leaving, she stopped.
"Thiriel."
He looked at her.
"Be more careful next time." Her voice was soft. "Please."
And she disappeared down the stairs.
Caethiriel waited until the footsteps faded before speaking.
"She likes you."
It was not a question. Thiriel sighed. "I know."
"And you?"
He did not answer. Caethiriel studied him for a long moment, then nodded to herself.
"I understand."
She stood up and began to gather the empty bowls. "You should sleep, brother. Tomorrow will be another long day."
Thiriel watched her move across the room with an efficiency that was uncharacteristic of her age. Sometimes he forgot how observant she was. How smart she was.
"Goodnight, Cae."
"Goodnight."
The door closed behind her. Thiriel was left alone in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the inn settling for the night. The pain from his wounds pulsed softly.
But there was another pain, deeper, that had nothing to do with broken bones or torn muscles. A pain he had carried with him from another life.
Elara, he thought. I'm sorry.
He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.